


shall there be silence

by reallylexis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Crowley POV, Crowley invented soft angst, Feather light angst, Ficlet, Fluff, Light Angst, Living Together, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Sleeping Together, Slice of Life, Stream of Consciousness, Super Duper Light Angst, Vignette, fluff baked with a dash of angst, is that even a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 13:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19974727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallylexis/pseuds/reallylexis
Summary: 6,000 years of pining is very hard to get over. Crowley still has one (1) doubt. Aziraphale puts a stop to it. With his mouth.





	shall there be silence

here: in bed with you, the sheets soft and warm, your chest rising and falling gently as you breathe in and out. your petulant tone of _i-most-definitely-do-not-snore-crowley_. and i smile to myself; my lips curling up and _stop it you_ , i tell myself.

i press a secret smile, press the joy and push my face against your neck, but gently, you have only just begun to indulge in sleep after all these centuries.

i breathe in your scent. it does not smell divine, it does not smell like ozone, but i would know you, smell you and know you blind wherever you are: in a pitch black room, a burning bookshop, a church, anywhere in this world. spread across the universe or the next one over, i will follow you in death, at the end of the world. 

it is almost too hot, just on the edge of sweaty comfortable, these bodies we have laid out in my bed. but we cling to one another, a set of parentheses that was never meant to be and yet. and yet we fit together just right, right here. right now on a king-sized bed on the day (or is it night) after the very last day of the rest of our lives.

 _you go too fast for me, crowley_.

just a sentence. and oh, how it had hurt. hurts now even just thinking about it. mere, measly words that cut through the bone, simple syllables that stun and snuff out a 6,000 year old flame of hope.

i frown and start to pull away. doubt and hesitation still a stain that remains, even after the finally echoed words:

“we’re on our side now,” firm and righteous as only an angel can proclaim.

“i can hear you thinking, my dear,” and i make a sound. it might even be called a squeak but i’ll deny it to the very end. creature of habit, et cetera, and all that.

“go back to sleep, angel.”

“i would if i could, if you weren’t all squirming like a worm.”

another sound; this time outraged and higher in pitch.

i have half a mind to turn myself into a snake but i am loath to break our embrace.

instead i hiss, “i am a ssss-snake. the ssss-serpent of eden. the original tempter, the….”. although even I have to admit (privately) that dragging out the syllables might be a tad too dramatic.

i feel warm, large hands rubbing my lower back. the silk material slightly riding up, what with that pinky ring getting in the way. a chuckle in my ear, and i retaliate by tightening my hold around aziraphale. _just like a snake constricting its prey_ , i thought. a worm could never.

“what did I say, i always knew you were a bit of a bastard.” there’s no denying it, there’s a whine in my voice as i speak the words into his neck.

i can’t help it, my tongue flickers out: long, thin and forked as i taste his skin, his perfect scent that has no more traces of meddling from that absurd barber of his.

“well, darling. let’s not change the subject. what’s on your mind?”

curse those very warm, very nice hands on my back. _so big, strong and mighty_ , my treacherous heart whispers. lust has never been a strong suit of mine but it looks like this particular sin is making a strong comeback. _you’re not lusting, you’re just swooning,_ another smug voice pops up in my mind. i have got to do something about _thisss_.

“crowley, are you hissing to yourself?”

i detect a note of genuine alarm in my angel’s voice. no, that will not do.

“am i going too fast for you i really don’t know what to do, well i do know what i want to do but what do you…”.

i am a gargoyle, fear and longing rushing out, ugly and needy, perched on a precipice. maybe if i say it out fast like anything, this garbled confession, oh lord, satan, someone please, why is he looking at me that way, is he going to let me down gently, finally tell me the truth, i’ve got it all wrong, please someone, make it sto-

he’s kissing me. and kissing me. and i…i kiss him back. i feel him, sure and steady, his presence, his touch surrounding me, grounding me in this very moment. no more second guessing, no more what-ifs.

that horrid insecurity always an insidious itch at the back of my mind – a noise finally gentled, soothed into something cool and quiet, a silence loud and clear.

love has its very own language here. hear.

here: in bed with you.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing in first person pov! i hope it does some justice to these two ineffable idiots, especially crowley, crowley baby ilu sfm. 
> 
> one paragraph is heavily inspired by Madeline Miller's (The Song Of Achilles):  
> “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”


End file.
